Dream of a Reverie
by LostAier
Summary: Kind of a mix and continuation of LOTR and The Silmarillion. This is the tale of Frodo in the Blessed realm, for he was meant to renounce the dark, and revive the light.


Chapter One  
  
Luminous stars filled the sky. Voices of the immortal Elves lifted into the air as they sang their tales of the loved, the lost, and the found. There was much merrymaking for never had the Elves gathered so. Even Elrond joined in on the festivities, despite his departure from his daughter. Mithrandir's fireworks were majestic, but were not needed. Neither were torches or fires, for Varda's realm bore an innocent light for each individual. Even more so greatly upon the strange creature, Bilbo, whom many Elves inquired over. Never had they seen a Hobbit, for no halfling had ever made the journey into the West. Bilbo didn't quite stand out, for he was about half the height of most Elves, but he had many tales to tell. Of course, Mithrandir didn't let Bilbo get over his head, as he often did. But the Hobbit with the most tales could not speak. His usual sapphire eyes had dimmed to a gray. Trying to escape the light and heavenly voices, he hid behind a tree, unseen by any of the beings celebrating. He clenched his left shoulder with his swollen right hand. Pain was expected to disappear in the Undying Lands, but Frodo's fate was differed. While he concealed his pain with great difficulty, he could not anymore. The stars emitted such a pure light his entire body could feel it beneath his many cloaks. His body felt stiff and frozen but with every slight shift an inoculation of fire spread through his body. It felt as if the torture of the Mordor Blade and Shelob's poison were combined. He desperately tried to enclose himself in darkness but the happiness of the Elves were too constricting. The tune seemed to go on and on, a fairly familiar one.  
  
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath,  
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the tree  
The starlight on the Western Seas.  
  
For Elves are blessed to see many days,  
Watched by Eru through unseen ways.  
He send us guardians in time of need,  
With starlit paths and beings to lead.  
Such as she who has an unseen face,  
A face to beautiful for any to trace.  
  
The maiden of eve blesses us from afar  
She is our beloved, Queen of the Stars.  
Her pallid glow, we hold dear  
As a sleepless night draws ever near.  
When Tilion travels over the sky,  
Hoping to pass Arien by.  
  
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath,  
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!  
  
Frodo stopped quivering. In the midst of the song, Frodo had felt a seizure like none other he had had in his sick days. The very name that once saved Frodo now pained him for Melkor feared none of the Valor except for Varda, whom the Elves called Elbereth and Gilthoniel. Melkor's fear of such goodness spread from his fingertips into Sauron, into the Nazgul, and into Frodo. The Elves had not finished. They chanted on and on without story, odd for an Elvish song. So many harmonies melted into a singular voice chanting the names of Varda. Their volume lifted so high many believed that Varda herself could her them in her heavens, and she could, for else she would not hear his cry for help. Frodo could not swallow the black blood rising in his throat, but when he released, he heard a sound that made his heart stop. A chilling scream that was able to panic all living things upon middle earth. The singing Elves stopped, for many of them had dwelt in the time of Sauron and recognized the scream. It was scream of the Nazgul. He couldn't stop it. The screech uttered from his mouth was constant and defining. A black haze began to shroud Frodo will the Elves watched the tree with suspicious eyes. Frodo felt his limbs numbing, by he was surprised when he found himself standing. His feet moved for him no matter how much he resisted. Too much poison had lived in his blood for too long, becoming stronger and controlling. Frodo came from behind the tree surrounded by an ashen cloud. Elves began to panic for their fear drove them. Each elf saw a different form of evil within the black mist. Some saw a Ringwraith, others saw Sauron himself, and those who had lived long ago believed that Melkor was upon them. Only Mithrandir saw the bewildered hobbit, but his voice could not be heard over the alarmed voices. Bows were raised and arrows flew through the air randomly into the black shroud of fog. The first arrow that found Frodo struck into his upper right leg. The instant sting was almost welcomed for it dulled his shoulder pain for a mere second and he gained control of his right leg. He stumbled and saw the delicate Elvish arrow protruding from his leg smeared with his own blood, but it was not crimson for it ran black. The shaft had penetrated three inches deep. The whole shaft would have gone through Frodo's leg if Elrond had not let his fear overcome him. Arrows whipped past Frodo as he sat on the ground trounced by pain. He could not clearly see the elves. It seemed as if the charcoal smog itself seemed to be attacking him. Another arrow clouted his right shoulder and his right hand fell away from his left shoulder. A third skinned his side.  
  
The raven mist stopped swirling and the Elves lowered their bows for an opulent light cleared their vision. Many gazed upward and received the impression of a star falling upon them. Never had they seen anything so stunning. Varda's feet gently fell upon the ground. The Elves stood back, bewildered believing that the Lady of the Stars had come to save them. They bowed their heads and kneeled upon the ground. None had ever seen one of the Valors. Although apparition of Elbereth was often spoken of, no being who had seen her face could describe it for any description would have been an insult. From inside the swirling blur of smoke Frodo saw a bright light. His left shoulder trembled but the rest of his body welcomed the warming light. He closed his eyes and enjoyed what he thought would be the last moments of consciousnesses. He felt a tepid hand upon his forehead. A silvery voice rang, "Sleep my dear, and rest," and Frodo fell asleep in the arms of Varda. "Mithrandir," she called. Gandalf the White moved toward her as natural as though they had known each other for many years, and they had. The Wizards that came to Middle Earth were of the Ainur, sent to help raise a rebellion against Sauron. "Yes, my Lady?" inquired Mithrandir. Elbereth gently laid the meager hobbit into his arms. Mithrandir felt Bilbo's gaze looking on with the love of a father. "Take him to Yavanna. She will know what to do," she urged. "But miss, what'll will happen to him? Where's he going?" interrupted Bilbo. He stared upward pleadingly at her. Varda smiled at Bilbo. "Do not worry. He shall return to you in time, but more troubles this being than a few arrows," reassured Varda. Bilbo was thwarted, but he understood. Mithrandir gave him a reassuring nod. "Throndor will come soon. He will bear you and the halfling safely. I must depart and join Manwe, for he is distressed to see me leave. I bid you farewell Mithrandir. This was a much-needed reunion. As for Bilbo, he shall stay with the elves until he and Frodo shall find their own home here." Mithrandir bowed his head in departure and Bilbo performed a maladroit bow. Varda looked upon Frodo's quieted face and sighed. Frodo's pains were not to be settled by her, no matter how much pity she felt for him. Winds swirled around her and she let the winds of Manwe lift her into the heavens. 


End file.
